Page 19

The old wooden bucket sat just where it always had. Will nudged it with his foot. All the times he’d eagerly dragged that bucket out, flipped it over, and clambered up onto a horse for his morning ride.

In the days before.

Before his accident. Before he’d seen the flash in his brother’s eyes that day. Decades had passed, but still that look haunted him. Such glee had twinkled in young Jamie’s eyes, at the sight of Will’s terror.

To see such malice in one’s own blood was to lose one’s innocence forever.

Rollo walked to the old stall. Stepping inside, he ran his cane along the floor, leaving a faint line in the hard- packed dirt.

Though raked out long ago, the whiff of hay and the faint tang of urine prickled his nostrils. The smell of the stables had once been so reassuring. It was a rich scent, of manure and leather oil, and he couldn’t help but find the ghost of it reassuring now.

If only he could turn his back on everything and fill his days with serenity like this.

Since arriving home, he’d returned frequently to check on their horses, deciding he’d give up battles, and plots, and kings to lead a life of peaceful seclusion.

To have mornings spent in the stables, his greatest concerns the baling of hay and the breeding of mares.

He leaned against the stall door, remembering the child he’d been. And remembering that poor, damned pony. He’d been put down that very day. His father had put the bullet in the beast’s head himself.

Will lifted his cane, pushing open the shutters of a small window.

He’d been so proud of that bloody animal, his first sight of it with its head out that window, greeting him with a chuff and a twitch of its ears.

Dust motes were all that filled the space now, flashes of white floating in the dim stall.

Aside from his and Felicity’s mounts grazing in a paddock out back, the stable was empty. His mother had no use for horses about. Caring for his feeble-minded father was enough for her.

He sighed deeply. What would his father have made of Will, returning with the strange and lovely Felicity in hand? Slapped him on the back, he was certain, with an about time, fool lad .

Because it was his father most of all who’d deluded himself about Will’s injury. He never understood how so much more than his son’s leg had been crushed that day. Hadn’t understood why Will never chose to marry.

Their fortune would’ve found him any number of brides, but it was Will’s pride that kept him alone. He’d not suffer the snickers of a pretty young thing when his back was turned. Or gasps of horror when they saw his crooked flesh.

Pretty young thing. Clenching his eyes shut, he slammed his head back against the warped wood. What was he doing with Felicity?

Traveling with her had become pure torture. Renegade imaginings of the feel of her skin, or the curve of her naked body, had intensified. His fantasies darkening into pure, tor turous lust. He wanted to take her, have her. Bury himself in her.

Her teasing innuendo mocked him. She thought she wanted him. But she didn’t know. She was a pretty young thing indeed, carried away on her whims, taken with the magic and the unreality of the moment.

A pretty young thing who’d surely choose the next strapping Highlander to cross her path. He was sure he’d been chosen by the universe, in some absurd stroke of cruelty, to find Felicity just that: some braw hero to sweep her away. Like James did Magda, or MacColla with his Haley.

But Rollo? Such was not his fate. His fate had been written in this very stall over thirty years past. He was a broken fool who’d best remain alone.

The pretty young thing and The Fool , he thought, reaching for his sporran. Carefully he opened the pouch. Carefully removed the strange and colorful card. He’d secured it away, and it was as clean and unbent as the day he’d peeled it from Felicity’s arm. The Fool.

Him.

The universe didn’t get much clearer than that.

Footsteps sounded at the door of the stable. Swiftly tucking the card away, Rollo marshaled his features into a careful mask.

“Will.” The whispered voice was furtive, hesitant.

Rollo sighed, pulled away from the wall. Peering into the shadows, he knew whom he’d see. The figure was backlit, setting his red hair to a frizzy auburn halo.

“Ormonde.” Will shook his head. “Have you ever in your life made a conventional entrance?”

“But conventions can get so tedious, don’t you agree?” He strode to Will, clapped him on the shoulder. “Now tell me what has you sulking in a dank barn, friend. I’ve spied your woman up at the house. Not getting along with the dearest Lady Rollo, is it?”

“Oho.” Will gave him a small smile. “Is that why you seek me out here? You’re afraid to run into my mother?”

“No woman scares me.” Ormonde gave a rakish cock to his brow.

“But truly. Your brother has been spotted. And so I must make haste. You’ll recall, Jamie and I weren’t the fastest of friends.

And though my room at the Tower was charming indeed, I quite prefer less, shall we say, restrictive accommodations. ”

“Jamie’s about?” Will’s tone grew hard. He was instantly on his guard, wondering just what would drive Ormonde to take such a risk. “What could possibly bring you here?”

“I suppose you’d not believe me if I said it was the pleasure of your company?”

Rollo’s eyes narrowed.

“Thought not.” Ormonde plucked a bit of hay from his sleeve, gathering his thoughts. “I need to ask you a favor.”

“A favor.”

“Aye. We need you to travel—”

“I’ll not go back to London,” Will stated simply.

“It would be but a brief stop on your way to Belgium.” Ormonde blunted his words with a smile. “I’ve found a man who’ll take you across the water, to Calais. You’ll need to dress as a fisher—”

“Belgium?”

“Our king is in exile there.”

“I know who’s in Belgium,” Will snapped.

“I’ve been ferrying correspondence between our men in London and Charles II, in Bruges. I’m afraid I can no longer make the trip. You saw firsthand what happened the last time I set foot in England.”

“This is too much, Ormonde. Spy games leave the taste of cowardice in my mouth. I’m a fighting man. I face my enemies in the open. I’ve battled for the King, and would go to battle again. But these intrigues? I am finished with them.”

Both men froze, hearing muffled sounds outside. The low chuff of a horse, an answering whinny.

“Away,” Will hissed. “Quick now.”

He heard boots hit the ground. A man dismounting.

Ormonde scanned the row of stalls. His eyes were bright and alert.

“There’s a door,” Will whispered. “Through there.” Putting a hand to his friend’s shoulder, Rollo pointed to an abandoned tack room at the rear of the stable. “Best not come back.”

With a nod, Ormonde raced away, the dirt and dust of the old corridor swirling in his wake.